


The wounds in the dark

by jessamoo



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 16:56:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1234060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessamoo/pseuds/jessamoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When their company is ambushed, Anne ends up having to take care of Aramis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The wounds in the dark

Aramis could see his breath in the col night air. About the only thing he could see, in this darkness.

They had been escorting the king and queen on one of their small tours of their province - they would be staying with some of the gentry from surrounding areas. A week or two, at best. And because the people who had the honour of hosting royalty had a lot of their own guards, the musketeers tended to appreciate this kind of work. Or at least Aramis did. He liked the peace, the scenery. He felt the romance in it. For Porthos, he could generally find someone in the stately homes willing to teach him some new skill or lend him a new book - Porthos was an avid learner, though he kept it to himself a lot. D'artagnan was new to this, and so enjoyed the change, the excitement. Athos was the only one of their group who found this all tedious - he said it was a waste of time - but Aramis knew it reminded him of a past that he had tried hard to escape. Sometimes, the gentlemen they saw would do a double take when they saw him, recognising him for who he was, seeing the nobility in his face.

Aramis however was no longer enjoying himself all that much. Neither were any of the others, they're weary faces grimacing against the uncomfortable saddles, the sleepiness that was creeping up on them after riding through the night. They would never normally do this, especially with the king and queen under their guard. In fact, they had all fought as hard as they could to quell the idea.

The king was the one who had wanted to keep riding. They had warned him of the dangers of travelling at night. Bandits and robbers on the road, not being able to see properly. All of it. All the reasons they never did this. Only this had made the king more adamant to keep going. He insisted he wasn't afraid of scoundrels and thieves. He was trying to prove his bravery, Aramis supposed, but had picked the most inopportune time to do it. Though, being a king who lived lavishly, Aramis could understand the insecurity somewhat. He had looked at the queen whilst all this arguing had been going on.

She had glanced at him too at that moment, as if feeling his eyes on her. Her own blue eyes betrayed all that she was feeling. A solemn look fell on her face as the king sputtered and argued his case to the others. She had gripped her hands into fists before placing a small white hand upon her husbands.

"Please, my love. Do think this through." Aramis stiffened slightly. He hadn't ever expected or thought about the queen being particularly interested in him after the necklace incident - his romantic side quickly giving way to a much more practical view on that situation. But seeing her touching the other mans hand, hearing her say those words - it sparked something strange in him. He knew she didn't mean it without knowing quite how. But he did know. He could tell. 

"You may not be afraid to go on the roads at night, but I am." She carried on. Anne was looking at the king steadily, controlled. Aramis smirked to himself subtly. The queen knew exactly what she was saying, how to say it, to convince the king round to her way of thinking. Looking at her, the way she took control of the situation, Aramis doubted she was truly afraid of anything. "Please, lets just stay here for the night and we can set off in the morning. As early as possible."

The king had looked at her for a long moment, contemplating. For a moment, it looked as if he would relent. "No, no. We will keep going. There were reports of bad weather that we absolutely must keep ahead of if we are going to enjoy any of this. And besides, there is no need to be afraid. I am here. As are the musketeers."

Aramis grimaced uncomfortably at the idea that the king would be doing any of the protecting if it came down to it. Learning to fence in a gilded drawing room and shooting pheasants wasn't the same as fighting. But of course, he said nothing. He looked at the queen as she sunk in her chair slightly, disheartened. Her eyes had been wide, pleading. Aramis didn't know how any sane man could deny her anything, when she looked at him like that.

So here they were, against all judgement. But whilst they were referred to usually in matters of protection, battle, they still could not disobey a direct order from the king.  
"Its the cardinal what's got this idea in his head." Porthos muttered angrily. He had his bandana, his hat, everything that could possibly protect him from the cold. Aramis thought he looked more bundle of cloth than a man at that moment. "He must be seen to be unafraid in these harsh times." He recounted in a posh voice - that incidentally sounded nothing like the man he was impersonating. "A man of the people."

"If he were a man of the people he'd be chafing himself on a horse, not sitting in that carriage." D'artagnan supplied. Apparently the novelty of the trip had worn off for him too.

Athos and Aramis exchanged a look but kept silent. It would do no good to berate the king. It would just make the task of guarding him that much harder. Aramis also wouldn't want the option of assigning this to anyone else. Even if he was riding in the cold and the dark, they weren't just protecting the king. They were protecting the queen. Even when the king made decisions based on his own problems, or what the cardinal whispered to him - it didn't mean the queen should be left wanting when she didn't even agree with him. She had a smart head on her pretty shoulders, and if rumours were true, she tried as hard as she could to help the king, to influence him the right way, to remove him from under the thumb of the cardinal. 

 

All it takes is a snap of a twig. A movement, quick as a flash, in the distance.  
Then a yell.  
A yell that all the men recognised.  
It sounded like a war cry.

Men spilled over the hills like a flood. The horses pulling the King and queen's carriage reared and whinnied, stopping in the muddy tracks.  
As the musketeers jumped off their horses, brandishing their weapons, they flanked the carriage. The ground was wet and muddy and not ideal for fighting. Instructions and orders were yelled as the fight broke out between the musketeers and what seemed to be about six bandits. On the other side of the carriage fought Porthos and D'artagnan. Athos, beside Aramis shot into the dark space, narrowly missing his target who managed to duck behind a tree. He moved forward slightly to get a better shot, yelling "Stay there!" To Aramis.

Aramis was left fighting two men - one of whom managed to break away whilst Aramis took out his friend with a steady shot to the shoulder. The one who got away went to grab the carriage driver. The driver gave a yelp as he was pulled down into the mud, narrowly missing the franticly moving horse hooves that were now above him. Aramis grabbed the bandit from behind and dragged him away - getting an elbow to the ribs. It quickly turned into a fist fight and the bandit wriggled free of his grasp to face him. Aramis stood poised, ready to tackle him. But the bandit did nothing but stare at him with a strange knowing smile on his face. A momentary confusion took over Aramis, who's heart beat rapidly and wildly with fear and excitement. The excitement of the fight was short lived however as he saw the bandit glance into the woods behind his opponent, just for a second.  
Then it dawned on Aramis. He wasn't just staring at him. He was waiting. Waiting for something he knew was going to happen. Aramis slowly turned on his heel, staring into the dark forest around them.  
He hears the sound of an arrow being loosed before he feels it. The next sound he hears is a strangled cry, and Athos comes stumbling out of the darkness, bloodied but alright. He drags with him two men. One who was the bandit who he had fought before, unconscious. The other is covered in too much blood to be anything other than dead.  
"Crossbow." Athos breathed, before his eyes settled on Aramis' shoulder in alarm.

Aramis, as if in response, sank onto the ground, his vision growing blurry. He looked down at his arm and saw a long arrow protruding from it. That's when the pain hits him of course. He doubles over clutching his arm. He can hear the others fighting still and wonders if more bandits had been in the woods, as had happened on his and Athos's side.

Athos runs to him and pauses for a second, thinking. He lets out a huge ragged sigh, before grabbing under his arms and hoisting him up as well as he can.  
"I can still fire a pistol!" Aramis shouts without knowing if its true. But if there was more fighting to be done, he wasn't going to leave his brothers, or let the king and queen down.  
"You cant do anything if your dead, Aramis."  
Athos bangs loudly on the carriage door. The driver is still cowering on the muddy ground, incapacitated by fear. Nothing happens from inside of the carriage.  
"Your majesty open the door! I have a wounded musketeers out here!"  
He helps Aramis hook his good arm over his shoulders so he can face the carriage properly as the door opens.

It is the queen that flings the door open quickly, moving to look out at what was happening. She was panic stricken, breathing heavily. The king was hunched inside the carriage, one hand hovering toward her as if to pull her back in. There was a momentary pause as Anne's eyes settled on Aramis, taking in his dirty, bloodied appearance in shock. As if snapping back into action, she blinked once or twice, swallowed then nodded.  
"Get him in here." She said, moving from the doorway.

Athos pushed Aramis into the carriage - who would have fallen very ungracefully if it were not for Anne's hands helping to steady him and lower him into one of the plush velvet seats. Athos hesitated in the door way for a second.  
"Go, I'll take care of him till your finished." Anne reassures him. He must see some kind of confident conviction on her face, for Athos nods and disappears, closing the door of the carriage.

Inside the carriage they would hear the fighting. Aramis felt out of place and guilty but whenever he tried to protest Anne hushed him with a look, pushing him down on the seat again. The king, it seemed, was too shocked to be of much use. He kept staring at the wound in the musketeers shoulder, which was still bleeding heavily.

"We need to sort this wound out." Aramis started to shake his head until Anne placed her hand on his cheeks, turning his face to hers. "We need to sort out your wound." She repeated, slowly but firmly. Aramis set his lips as he stared at her, knowing she was right. "I'll help you, but you need to tell me what to do." Anne carried on.

"Alright. Alright." Aramis breathed, closing his eyes for a brief moment. "Help me sit up?". Anne nodded and placed her hands on either side of his rib cage. He pushed himself up into a proper sitting position with her help. Her closeness doesn't go unnoticed.

"Anne, what do you expect you can do? It would be better to get him to a doctor." The king cried.  
"Well I don't see that happening any time soon!" She snapped back, staring at the floor as she said it. She glanced at him then, straight in the eye. Her glance was cold and unyielding. The king sat back again and let them carry on.  
"I don't have anything to sow the wound up with." Aramis continues, trying his best to inspect the wound. "Were just going to have to bandage it as best we can until we can get out of this god forsaken forest."  
"I can...I can do that." Anne says quietly. Aramis grasps her hand gratefully. His grip is tight and he's getting mud all over her fingers. She doesn't bad an eyelid. She just looks at him intently.

Anne tears her gaze from his and to her husband. "Louis, give me that handkerchief." She holds her hand out.  
The king looked at the handkerchief he had been pressing to his face in order to not smell the blood. He seemed frozen in place.  
"Quickly!" Anne snapped, and he jumps, thrusting the handkerchief at her. She takes it and places it in her lap.

Aramis smiles a little at her despite the pain. "Quite matronly of you. You should have been a nurse." He jokes lazily at her. Anne gives a little laugh back at him. "You might not be saying that when you see my bandaging skills." She grins.  
"Do we have anything to use as a bandage?" Aramis asks sceptically.  
Anne's grin turns into a smirk.

"Louis do you have your hip flask?" She asks, gaining two equally confused looks from the men in the carriage. Louis gives it to her without argument. Anne unscrews the lid and takes a huge gulp. She squirms against the taste of the alcohol, then screwing the lid back on places it with the handkerchief resting on her legs.  
Then she turns to Aramis. Watching her had almost made him forget about the wound in his shoulder. It had certainly made him forget she was a queen until she looked at him with that pointed, certain expression. "Do you have a knife, Aramis?"  
"In my boot, yes - but I don't see how-"  
His speech cut off abruptly as Anne leans down, her hand reaching around his leg to find his knife. Aramis can feel that old familiar feeling of lust beginning to coil in his stomach. He pushes it down as best he can and pretends she isn't basically kneeling down right in front of him. He looks at the ceiling, trying to ignore how close she is to certain parts of him, until she finds the knife and sits back up.

"Please tell me your not planning to kill me and put me out of my misery." Aramis watches as she rolls her eyes and reaches down to the hem of her dress.  
"Anne, what on earth-" Louis doesn't finish his sentence as Anne pulls her dress up to her thigh, grabbing her petticoat. They watch as she plunges the knife into it, the silk fabric ripping under the silver blade. She drops her skirt back down - Aramis smiles widely at her as his brain catches up with him - He had been mildly distracting by her slender, shapely legs.  
She dangles the strip of silk in front of her face triumphantly. "A bandage." She says. She cant help but smile too as Aramis lets out a surprised laugh.

He swallows, his smile fading to one that he hoped reassured Anne slightly as they both looked at his wound. "Right." He said. "Down to business then." He said, with more confidence than he felt. He reached to the hipflask and took a swig.  
"I think this would be slightly easier if you...if you weren't..." Anne nods toward his uniform. 

Aramis' leather coat had been pulled open during the fight, so the arrow had pierced through his shirt rather than the leather. He nods. He tries to shrug of his jacket but winces against the pain.   
"Let me?" Anne asks in a small voice. He looks at her for a moment before agreeing. She helps him push the leather of his shoulders gently, trying not to jostle his wounded arm too much. Their faces end up very close to one another.

Anne placed a hand on his shoulder delicately. She takes up the knife again and cuts at the thin fabric of his shirt to reveal where the arrow pierced his skin.  
"Oh, that's not the worst place it could have gone." Aramis nods and Anne raises her eyebrows sceptically. "If it heals properly, I should be able to fight still. You see how its further up? If it had gone here..." He places her fingers a little nearer to his collarbone. "Not so much."   
Her fingers, touching his skin softly, stay there for a second longer than normal. He doesn't move his hand from hers.

The king shift in his seat in annoyance and snap back to the present situation. Anne takes the flask and unscrews the lid.  
"Ready?"  
"Proceed." He brandishes his hand dramatically.  
And proceed she does, slowly pouring the alcohol onto the wound, trying to clean it before the bandage it. He sucks air through gritted teeth at the stinging.   
"You seem to be in more pain from that than from the arrow." Anne smiles. He thinks she's trying to distract him, but he doesn't mind.  
"Oh no, its simply the loss of such fine alcohol that pains me." Aramis clasps a hand to his chest and she laughs. He realises he likes making her laugh very much. The contrast between this and the solemn faced queen from the day before was very much apparent.

Anne presses the handkerchief around the base of the shaft where it went into his shoulder. Her hands are covered in blood and he feels a pang of guilt at showing her this side of his world. It was different when he was protecting her. She was supposed to feel safe under his watch, not have to patch him up and take on this kind of responsibility.  
"I think the fighting has stopped." The king says, peering out the window.

Anne and Aramis don't pay attention to him. He is staring at her, watching her wrap the silk bandage around his shoulder and tie neatly and precisely. Her eyes keep moving to his too.  
"I think that's the best we can do for now." She says. However, she doesn't move her hand from his bare shoulder. She presses her palm again his chest slightly.

The she feels the chain of his necklace under his shirt and he sees her fighting of a smile at knowing he was wearing it. He's about to say something quiet and romantic about it when the door is flung open.

And then, as his fellow musketeers all try to peer into the carriage at the same time, Anne drops her hand from his skin as if it burned her. The king jolts up and starts exclaiming at them, and Aramis shifts uncomfortably, knowing Athos had just caught that small moment, and knew exactly what it meant. Aramis tried to move away from Anne slightly, but it was hard seeing as he couldn't put pressure on his shoulder to push himself further down the seat.  
"You bandaged your wound!" Porthos exclaims, jostling Athos out the way to peer into the carriage curiously.  
"The queen did actually. Very good in a crisis." Aramis replies, not quite managing to hide the pride and admiration in his tone. "Very...adaptable."   
"Yes, well. We should get you to a doctor." Athos grumbles seriously. "D'artagnan can take you on his horse. It will be quicker that way. We can continue to escort the king and queen to the nearest shelter."

The musketeers all help to get Aramis onto a horse. He holds on with one hand as best he can, and D'artagnan takes hold of his reigns to guide him. He can feel himself needing to sleep now and is glad of the assistance, though he would never admit it.

As they had helped him out of the carriage, Anne had followed him. She stood watching them help, wishing there was more she could do. Wishing she knew the outcome. She wrung her hands watching him worriedly. Glancing around her, she tried her best to ignore the bodies of the bandits that now littered the ground. As Aramis' horse is urged on and he and D'artagnan begin to depart, she rushes forward before she thinks. The feels the loss of him keenly, knowing he was hurt. Worry clouded her features.

Athos turned and took a step to her. His hand comes up hesitantly and he places it lightly on her arm. She turns to him with a teary expression.  
"He's in good hands. D'artagnan will get him where he needs to go. You helped as much as you could."  
"I..." She shakes her head, not knowing what to say. "I suppose I forget sometimes, what you all face in your profession. What you and your men - " She cannot help glance at the retreating figure of Aramis then, betraying who she is really referring too. "What you go through. A lot of the time just to protect us!" Anne throws her arms out, gesturing to the bandits on the floor.

Athos shushes her gently to reassure her. "We know the risks. Aramis knows the risks. And there is no one else we would rather have the honour of protecting. Come now, it is over. We must be going."  
She tears her gaze from Aramis as he disappears into the dark. She looks up at Athos. His expression is stoic, but as she looks at him she knows he understands. He knows exactly just what she is feeling with and why, and, more importantly, for who.  
"He wanted to protect you and he did that. You returned that favour. Now do him one more, and don't let this wound put you in danger now."  
A few stray tears fall from her eyes and she wipes them quickly away, the true danger and shock of the night catching up with her. "Yes, your right." She composes herself, and Athos and Porthos pay her the courtesy of pretending they don't notice she's upset, they let her regain composure quietly with understanding.  
They don't speak as she climbs back into the carriage.

 

It is the two days later - after they reach the home of some duke or other, Anne doesn't pay attention to who, as she is too worried about her fallen musketeer. She has been pacing around, watching out the window for a rider to come with news from the doctor they took him too. The king is resting. He had been shocked, and had gotten a slight cold from travelling in not so warm weather. She cannot feel sympathy for him however. He was the one who wanted to travel at night.  
She wonders if this new resentment toward him is solely about that, or his complaining about the loss of his expensive handkerchief ("It was a gift from the king of Italy you know!") or perhaps, because none of his touches had ever compared to how Aramis had held her hand.

That afternoon, as she tried to drink tea in the drawing room but kept sloshing it around in her cup absentmindedly, the doors opened and a musketeer was announced. She clattered her tea cup back down on the table as she jumps up and moves quickly to meet him as he enters the room.  
"There's news?" Anne breathes, searching his face for the answers, but finding his impassive expression unreadable.  
"Aramis is going to be fine. As he predicted, the arrow - which has not been safely removed - thankfully didn't hit any major areas. With some rest he should recover completely."  
Anne gasped happily and smiled, pressing her hand against her chest in relief. She had been worried, but the sense of relief she felt now near overwhelmed her in its intensity.  
"There was..." Athos shifted his weight from one foot to the other awkwardly. "One other thing. I have here a merchant - a dressmaker actually. Aramis sent him with..."  
Athos shot an embarrassed glance at the king as the dress maker came in. He carried a garment wrapped in tissue which he held out to the queen with a bow.

"What is the meaning of this?" The king asks.  
"It was commission the night that musketeers was brought to the doctor. I wouldn't normally have taken on a request at such late hours, but when I heard it was intended for her majesty I..." The merchant, nervous, kept awkwardly glancing at the floor and bobbing up and down, bowing.  
Anne smiled and took the tissue wrapped gift from his hands. "Thank you." She said quietly pressing her hand to his sleeve to reassure him.

Athos escorted him out as Anne moved and placed the package on the chair she had been sat on.  
She unwrapped it slowly. It wasn't an expensive make by any means as she was used to, but the material was a soft cream and well made, even under the time limit.  
Anne unfolded the garment and laughed when she realised what it was.

Aramis had sent her a petticoat, to replace the one she had cut to bandage his arm. She ignored the shocked faces of the others in the room and held it up to look at it properly. As she examined it, her eyes fell on something that only she seemed to notice. There was a small golden embroidery that covered the hem of the dress. From far away it would seem like a little intricate stitching pattern - but something with no meaning. But when the looked at it closely she saw what they had done.

The brocade was not just embroidery, nor cross stitch or any other type. It was many little 'A's all around the hem.


End file.
